Desperado Dale (Scenic Route to Paradise) Read Online Free Page A

reorganized Bean’s things, placing them inside, leaving
out the clothing he would need and a pair of her generic reading glasses.
    When the clucking group of women entered the
restroom, Dale finalized his “look” by tying a black silk scarf about his neck
hiding his tell-tale Adams-apple and pulling down the spectacles from the top
of his head where another scarf hid his short busy locks except a few curling
girlishly about his ears. He exited the stall and immediately saw his mirrored
reflection in front of him revealing the three day beard. Pivoting, Dale
returned to the stall and flushed the toilet as a noisy cover-up before bolting
the lock once again.
    Adjusting the silk scarf to conceal his lower
face, Dale touched the clip-on earrings reassuringly. The bright jewelry
pinched his ears but matched his skirt and he hoped, diverted attention
from his masculine form. There was nothing he could do about the black Doc
Martens, size 11 but this was Greece he rationalized and many Greek women wore thick
black shoes.
    The females were finished and it was time for
him to leave mingling with them as a diversion. He opened the stall door again
and glanced at his image before turning towards the exit. The mirror revealed
his ridiculous appearance but he had prayed and this was the scheme downloaded.
Dale knew God had given him the plan and his confidence in succeeding beyond
the airport guards was complete.
    Dale had not bargained for the mental time warp
he moved through as he left the women’s bathroom and headed across the
terminal. When he was fifteen, Dale had been in a drama ministry and the present
reality of dressing as a forty-something Greek female reminded Dale of being
onstage. There was nothing for it but to get through the scene and off the
stage without tripping or forgetting one’s lines. Still, there was no
accounting for the other actors messing up which would leave Dale to improvise.
    Sometimes impromptu acting worked and sometimes
it didn’t .
This thought caused his palms to sweat. No matter; the show would go on and
even now, as he seemed to creep in slow motion toward the street, Dale needed
to follow-through.
    The pale green bag hung on his left arm. Dale’s
mind raced even as his eyes looked steadily toward the exit. His legs carried
him forward mechanically slower than normal.
    There are so many guards ! All of them armed.
    It was the tense times that were unfolding which
caused the weaponry to surface publicly. Also, this little island was a
crossroads for drugs, contraband, illicit meetings and human trafficking. It
came to mind as he reconnoitered above the ceiling tiles, that the island
authorities were looking for a pink bag carrying a specific illegal
something... drugs, stolen goods or whatever. When he thoroughly inspected
Bean’s carry-on there was nothing but the usual travel paraphernalia.
    About the time, Bean was scribbling her heirloom
cookie recipe and Gwyneth was napping in the dappled afternoon sunlight, Dale
was approaching two brawny guards standing on either side of the glass framed
airport terminal exit. After a brief glance, Dale commanded his eyes to look
away from either guard. They didn’t appear to be the same ones who had
initiated his earlier pursuit but they looked just as thick and mean. His heart
pounded and his mouth became very dry but he knew that he knew he would get
past these authorized thugs without harm. Dale had a strange surreal calm that
he recognized as God’s hand, resting upon him. Even so, Dale remembered that more
often than not these God allowed situations turned quickly into on-the-job
discipleship training or testing. Whether training or testing Dale wasn’t sure
which - but the calm dovetailed with a surprise, frequently enough.
    A God orchestrated scenario evolved just as Dale
had suspected it might.
    The sliding glass doors hadn’t closed behind
Dale when he heard, “Hey, you!” The words were in English and not Greek which
should have kept